


The Risk of Innocence

by oddgit



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Captured, FinchWhump, Interrogation, Kidnapping, Rescue, Small torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 18:43:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14816793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddgit/pseuds/oddgit
Summary: "Harold was walking down the street, toward the library. He was heading back to pick Bear up and then planned on heading home for the night. The NYC streets were unusually calm tonight. The air had a bitter chill to it, and he buttoned up his coat against it as he walked."





	The Risk of Innocence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zaniida](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaniida/gifts).



> I got Zaniida for this gift exchange. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> The prompt was: Finch gets taken prisoner, kept for a while, eventually rescued.

Harold was walking down the street, toward the library. He was heading back to pick Bear up and then planned on heading home for the night. The NYC streets were unusually calm tonight. The air had a bitter chill to it, and he buttoned up his coat against it as he walked.

His normal route was blocked off by construction, so he took a turn down a side street.

Nearly halfway down, he raised his head and noticed a dark SUV sitting at the end of it. The whole situation suddenly didn’t feel right; the hairs stood up on the back of his neck and he immediately decided to turn around, try to make a run for it, but someone’s arm wrapped around his neck and he was restrained, unable to get away from the individual.

He struggled against the person’s hold at first, but he couldn’t fight well enough to prevent a thick piece of cloth from covering his nose and mouth. He sucked in a deep breath instinctively and stiffened as the arm around his neck tightened. The nauseatingly sweet scent of chemicals flooded his nostrils, entering his lungs. He grabbed for the hands that were forcing the cloth over his mouth and feebly tried to pry them off.

His muscles were going weak, and he realized that he wasn’t going to get out of this one; the world was going dark around him. He felt his body going heavy, trying to fight harder but his limbs weren’t cooperating.

His body relaxed into the man’s hold, arms dropped limply to his side, but before he fell completely unconscious, he felt the man begin to drag him toward the awaiting vehicle, and another pair of hands grabbing at him as well… but then everything faded away…

#

Sound exploded in his brain. Sudden and sharp.

Where was he?

His eyes searched for light; struggled for it, but found only darkness. The metal chair was cold and hard against his skin; he could feel metal biting around his ankles. Chains…? He realized he was chained to a chair in complete darkness and nothing made any sense to him. Handcuffs secured his arms to the chair.

The last thing he remembered was walking to the library after finishing a number.

John had gone home for the day. Harold insisted on it; he made him go. He was exhausted and needed rest. They had just finished their third number in two days. Harold himself needed rest as well, but he needed to go retrieve Bear from the Library so they could go home for the night and hopefully relax some before the next case came in.

Now he was here, wherever here was. In the dark. Only the distant hum of what sounded like voices to assure him that he wasn’t dead. With a jolt he thought, one might hear voices in heaven or hell or whatever afterlife it was people ended up, but no, these voices sounded familiar. At least one of them did.

Now his hearing took over primary senses where his vision had been taken away. His ears strained and struggled against the quiet of the room to make out what it was that he was hearing. A conversation, he was sure of that. The rhythm of two voices weaving in and out of one another.

The pace of their words a rise and fall in the distance. But what were they saying? His whole body strained towards the direction of those words. Even his toes ached with the effort it.

“Ahhh, you’re awake.”

The voice sparked out of the darkness. He did know it.

“Where am I? What’s going on?” His words fired from his mouth fast and frantic. Rattling in his own ears. He tried to pull his arms and legs free uselessly; he hissed in pain as the movement jerked his body, causing his neck and lower back to throb.

A light clicked on and the brightness made his eyes ache. He realized that he didn’t have his glasses on and couldn’t quite make out the figure standing in front of him. He gulped, his heart beating rapidly, thrumming earnestly in his chest.

“Oh how rude of me…” The female voice moved closer and set his glasses onto his face, “There…”

Harold blinked once and saw that Control was standing in front of him. A knot in his stomach formed and he swallowed hard, his mouth dry. He was steeling himself for what was about to happen.

“Now that you can see… Harold… and before you protest, I know who you are and what you built.”

She knew his name… She knew where to find him… She knew who he was… How could this have happened? He was so careful…

“Since that’s the only name we know you by… Your laptop and phones data are being dissected as we speak and the identification in your wallet, back-traced. It’s only a matter of time before I know exactly who you are.”

If they had his phone… they’d be able to get to John… and Shaw… He tried to keep a straight face and not give away anything. Not show any of his cards.

 _“Or…_ you could just tell me who you are… where your system is. And if you are honest with me, your time with us will be much more comfortable.” She was behind him now, he couldn’t see her and he felt even more helpless than he had when she turned the light on. His stomach clenched.

He didn’t reply. The mere idea of giving the government unfettered access to the Machine made him sick to his stomach. He’d rather die.

“I respect you, Harold, I really do. And I understand where you’re coming from.” Her tone hardened as she stepped around him, forcing the smaller man to look into her eyes. “But _you_ must understand… I will get you to talk. It’s only a matter of time.”

At the snap of her fingers, two men entered the room and walked beside her. Harold recognized one of them as Ms. Shaw’s old trainer, Hersh.

He gulped.

“You know what to do,” was all she said as she walked out and left them in the room alone.

Harold’s hands started to sweat and he realized that his knowledge was _not_ a blessing right now. He’d read all of John’s files and all of Shaw’s… He was sure he wasn’t in for a pleasant time.

Hersh walked towards him, a syringe in his hand.

Harold winced and gasped as his neck was pushed to the side brutally, causing a sharp twinge to lance up his back and neck, followed by a hot burn when the needle was injected into his flesh.

He looked up at the blurry face of Agent Hersh as a black hood was placed back over his head. 

But he had his glasses on… why was his vision blurring?

Harold drew a sharp breath through his nose, sucking the heavy cloth up against his face. He felt himself start to get dizzy and his head was swimming. He remembered this feeling from when he was in the hospital after the accident.

Hersh had given him sodium thiopental… ‘used in an effort to obtain information from subjects who are unable or unwilling to provide it otherwise.’ Was the exact wording used in both John and Shaw’s extensive files.

It was also used to relax patients before surgery… freeing them of their inhibitions and concerns.

And now it was making Harold _too_ relaxed.

He heard a door slam shut, and then nothing at all. He felt his head start to fall forward and his eyes falling shut.

#

Harold jerked awake as the black hood was ripped off his head. His tongue felt fuzzy in his mouth and his stomach felt sour. His head swam and he blinked to clear his blurry vision.

“Welcome back, _Harold._ ” Hersh was sitting on the table in front of him. He’s staring at him with a menacing smirk on his hard face. “Why don’t you tell me what I want to know.”

Harold giggled a bit, licking his dry lips. “Well… Where shall I start…” He looked off toward the empty wall, in deep thought. “I know the first 1085 digits of Pi… would you like to know that?”

“No, Harold. Tell me about The Machine.” Hersh seemed annoyed now, but he didn’t so much as move a muscle. He reminded Harold of John. Always so calm, cool, and collected.

“The Machine…” Harold murmured to himself. “I built it after 911. I seemed to have made some errors when coding it. It haunts me at times. All the lives…”

He closed his mouth with a desperate little sob, the words falling out like the breaking of a dam. This shouldn’t be happening… he can’t tell them this. “I’m good with computers.”

He clamped his jaw shut and started to shake, desperately trying to keep words from rolling off his tongue. He knew he shouldn’t just be blurting this out… but the words just kept spilling. He couldn’t seem to stop them. Or rather, he didn’t care if he stopped them or not. He felt so frighteningly… calm somehow.

“Where is The Machine now, Harold?” Hersh asked coolly.

Harold looked up at the agent with hazy eyes, “I… I’m not sure. It was on a train…” Harold’s eyes fluttered shut, “Tired…”

Hersh snapped his fingers in front of his face and slapped him on the cheek, “No time for a nap yet. Just tell me where it is and then you can sleep, okay?”

“I don’t know where it is…” Harold hummed. “It moved… the servers… they’re gone.”

Hersh stood up and walked directly in front of Harold, kneeling to be eye level with the smaller man. “You’re good with computers, eh Harold?”

“Yes. People… not so much,” Harold giggled.

“Well then… you need your hands to work with computers…” Hersh released the handcuff that was holding one of Harold’s arms to the chair. He held Harold’s free hand on his thigh and took his index finger and began to _pull_ upwards _._

Harold didn’t even realize what was happening until he heard and felt a loud crack and then screamed at the sharp, hot pain in his hand.

“Where’s the Machine?”

“I don’t know! I swear!” Finch yelled, his eyes watered and clasped shut in pain.

Hersh grabbed another one of Harold’s fingers and pulled again, dislocating it from its socket.

“S… stop... stop it...”

“Okay… if you don’t know where it is… then do you have access to it?”

Harold bit his lip to keep any words from coming out; tears started to drip down his chin to land on his shirt.

“Just tell us, Harold… this could all be over.” Control was now back in the room, standing behind her agent.

Harold closed his eyes, tried to take a deep calming breath and remove himself from the situation. He had learned how to do it in the days after the ferry bombing when the pain became too much. When even the most potent of pain killers wouldn’t touch the pain of metal screws and pins holding your spine and hip together.

“Do you have access?” Control said each word slowly, like he may not be able to hear her or understand her.

“I… we… we help people…” Harold whispered, his eyes still closed and his breathing coming in short ragged gasps.

“Who’s we?” Hersh asked. He only waited a second before he ripped on another one of Harold’s fingers and a loud wail echoed throughout the room.

#

After all but 3 of Harold’s fingers were broken, he whimpered, “Please…” his heart hammering in his chest.

Suddenly, the moment was interrupted with a deafening explosion that shook the whole building. It was followed by the sound of shouting and gunfire.

Before Hersh could so much as lift his head, the door burst open and a volley of fire cut through the agent’s shoulder, sending him to the ground. Another agent that was in the room with them, was hit in the chest and collapsed back and crashed against the table on his way to the floor, dead before he hit the ground.

Harold ducked, trying to avoid the fire. He was roughly shoved to the floor, still attached to the chair. His glasses fell off his face, and the pain of falling to the floor made him yelp out in agony.

His legs were unshackled, followed by his arms. He was dragged to his feet, his eyes clenched tight in pain until he heard someone say his name.

“Harold… open your eyes.”

_John._

“We’ve got to get you out of here…” John turned his back to Finch and aimed and fired his gun at the oncoming agents. Shaw was at the door, already taking out anyone else who was coming toward them.

Harold looked pale, and bruised, and his hands and whole body were shaking. He let John lead him out, taking cover behind his partner. He bumped into John a few times while they were ducking and weaving throughout what was left of the building.

Once they made it to the exit, Carter and Lionel, were waiting for them with the car to cover them, as they moved as quickly as they could with Harold. John led his partner into the back seat, while Shaw hopped in on the other side.

Harold slumped against the seat, his hands aching and his head spinning. “My… my hands…” He gazed down at the unmoving, black, blue, and swollen fingers sitting in his lap.

Shaw looked at them, checking them over, “A few weeks and they’ll be as good as new, Finch.”

John grimaced at the sight of his friends broken hands. He also saw that his friend’s eyes were glassy and Harold couldn’t seem to focus very much. “Did they inject you with something?” He pulled up Harold’s sleeve to look at his arm. It brought out a pained hiss from his partner.

“Oh. That. Yes they did. It was rather… relaxing actually. But I couldn’t seem to stop talking.”

“Yeah, they dosed you with a truth serum, Harold,” Shaw remarked, seeing the needle prick in his neck. “It should be completely out of your system in an hour or so.”

“Okay.” Harold took a deep breath, his head falling back to rest on the seat and closing his eyes. “Thank you all… for coming for me. I was rather hoping you’d show up… and not a moment too soon I might add.”

The team all breathed a collective sigh of relief and remained quiet to let Harold rest. John especially felt thankful that he’d been able to get his partner back relatively intact. Now he could only hope Harold would have ample time to recuperate before the next number came in.


End file.
